


The Prince's Lover

by CarpeDiemForLife



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Unacknowledged Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:52:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9630443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDiemForLife/pseuds/CarpeDiemForLife
Summary: Friendship is nothing but a choice to care about another person. Love is when it ceases to be a choice.Snapshots of a developing relationship between Loki and Fandral, beginning as children and continuing all the way through 'Thor: The Dark World.' Each scene takes place months or years apart. Canon compliant.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is written more as a series of scenes than as a comprehensive story. I wrote this literally years ago and never posted it because I had dreams of fleshing it out a little more. But since that is clearly never going to happen, I decided to post it anyways! On the off chance that someone out there is just dying for some new Loki/Fandral fanfiction.
> 
> Chapter 1 takes place before either of the Thor movies. Chapter 2 will take place during and after both 'Thor' and 'Thor: The Dark World.'

When Thor met his friends in the designated spot, his younger brother at his side, he was surprised to witness a chorus of unhappy looks shared amongst them.

“What is the matter, friends?” he asked brightly, stepping forward to slap Hogun’s arm. From behind him, Loki watched everything with dark, glittering eyes, no expression on his pale face.

Sif took Thor by the arm, drawing him closer to her. “Must you bring him to the training grounds with us?” she asked quietly. “He will only be in the way.”

“It is true,” agreed Volstagg, not bothering to lower his voice. “Loki is many things, but hardly a warrior.”

“And he wishes to _learn_!” Thor exclaimed, unperturbed by his friends’ complaints. “One day he shall be as strong as any of us, I am certain.”

“In the meantime,” Hogun interjected, “we are forced to watch out that we do not accidentally injure him.”

“Exactly,” agreed Sif. “Thor, it is kind of you to wish to include him, but he will only hinder our practice.”

At this, Thor finally began to look uncomfortable, peeking back over his shoulder at his brother. Loki stood still and silent, giving no indication of his thoughts. He waited patiently for Thor’s verdict.

The young prince was not unused to hearing such things. He knew that the others saw him as a weakling, an oddity, more interested in books and magic than swords and battle. But when Thor had invited him along, he hadn’t had the heart to say no, knowing that Thor would demand an explanation. He found himself mildly regretting that now.

“Oh, let the little tyke join us!”

Everyone, including Loki, turned with surprise to Fandral, who approached Loki and loped an arm across his shoulders, grinning at the younger boy. Loki froze, staring at him with wide eyes for a single moment. Then he relaxed again, fading back into his earlier impassiveness.

“How shall he ever improve if he is not given a chance?” Fandral pointed out. The elder prince beamed, relieved at having someone on his side to remove the peer pressure. “Why, it’s not as if any of _us_ were simply _born_ with our skills. They had to be _worked_ for!” Sif, Hogun, and Volstagg shifted uncomfortably, sharing shameful gazes, knowing the truth of their friend’s words. “We ought to mentor Loki, not cast him away.”

Taking a breath, Sif said, “You are right, Fandral.” With an apologetic smile, she bowed to Loki. “My apologies, Prince Loki.”

Loki nodded simply, remaining as expressionless as before.

“Excellent!” boomed Thor. With a laugh, Thor waved a hand and cried, “Let us be off, then!” Skipping away, Thor led their party, followed quickly by a smiling Sif, then Volstagg and Hogun.

Still with his arm around Loki, Fandral squeezed his shoulder once. He had withdrawn his arm and begun to follow the others when a small hand suddenly grabbed his wrist.

Fandral stopped with shock, spinning to face the prince. There was clear curiosity in Loki’s eyes, and confusion. Nonetheless, Loki simply said, “Thank you.”

Fandral’s eyebrows rose. Loki so rarely spoke, and when he did the words were usually full of wit and mischief. He’d never seen the boy speak with such plain sincerity before.

“Well, you’re welcome!” he replied, offering Loki a bright smile. Hesitantly, Loki’s mouth pulled up in a sweet smile in return. For a moment, Fandral was actually struck breathless. He’d seen Loki smile before, certainly, but those all contained some hidden humor, or pride, or other emotion. This was pure, youthful, shy happiness. And it was beautiful.

At that odd thought, Fandral cleared his throat. Laughing at himself, he gestured down the hallway with his head.

“Coming?” he asked teasingly.

With a more confident smile, Loki nodded energetically. When Fandral took off running after their friends, Loki kept pace with him, his heart light and hopeful.

.

.

.

Racing down a third-floor palace corridor, Fandral screeched to a halt. Grinning, he leaned against a pillar, bringing golden binoculars up to his eyes as he stared out an open window.

Brunnhilde, the most renowned shield maiden of Asgard, had returned triumphant from a quest in Nidavellir, and had thus been invited to stay in the palace for several days. A feast was to be held in her honor that night. And from where he stood, with the aid of his binoculars, Fandral could see across an enclosed courtyard and into her room.

At present she was dressing and undressing, trying on different garments for the feast. Every time she stripped down again, her naked body coming into view, Fandral smiled appreciatively and congratulated himself on his cleverness.

The clack of boot heels had barely reached Fandral’s ears before a harsh voice asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Fandral jumped into the air, spinning to face a young woman with arms crossed, one of the shield maidens who fought under Brunnhilde. The black-haired warrior glared at him, glancing knowingly in the direction he’d been staring.

“Have you been spying like a bilge rat?” she demanded. Fandral’s mouth flopped open and closed like a fish, his heart hammering in his chest. _Gods_ , Odin would be more than displeased to hear of this. He was truly in for it.

“Lady Amora,” interrupted a smooth voice. “Good day.”

Both shield maiden and warrior turned to face the newcomer with surprise. Loki smiled easily, his eyes bright. Fandral’s brow wrinkled, even more so to see the smile—though confused—that Amora returned. It was clear from her expression that she and Loki were already acquainted.

“My prince,” she acknowledged, bowing politely. Still smiling, Loki came to stand by Fandral.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked kindly.

Had Fandral not been at a loss for words before, he certainly was now, as he stared dumbly at his friend. He’d never seen such warmth in the young prince, such sweet grace. It was utterly shocking to picture this side of the trickster. Was this only an act, or was there truly a side of him like this?

Amora shot a disdainful look at the fair-haired man. Reminded of his predicament, Fandral shifted uncomfortably, resisting the urge to shuffle his feet until he was shielded behind Loki.

“I have caught your… _friend_ ,” she said, spitting the word from her mouth, “staring shamefully into the chamber of my lady.”

Amora’s eyebrow rose dangerously as Loki gave a tinkling laugh in reply. Loki extended his arms, inviting her trust. “I understand the confusion,” he said. “However, I assure you there is no need for your valiant defense of Brunnhilde.”

Palms sweating, Fandral rubbed them against his trousers. He only hoped Loki knew what he was doing. He wasn’t sure which idea he fancied less: being punished by Odin, or by this fearsome shield maiden.

Amora glared self-righteously, turning her ire on Loki. “He impugns the honor of the Valkyrie!”

“This is a simple misunderstanding,” insisted Loki, as cordial as before. “Here, let me show you.” He held out a hand for Fandral’s binoculars. Hesitantly, the warrior handed them over. Amora watched Loki with undisguised doubt, but also with curiosity.

The god of mischief extended a hand to her. Slowly she took it, allowing him to lead her to the window. Giving her the binoculars, he stood behind her so that he could point her gaze in the right direction.

“Do you see that tall tree outside of Brunnhilde’s chambers?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied carefully.

“Look there at the top.”

Amora turned her head slightly upwards. “I…” she said. “I see… something. What is that?”

Fascinated, Fandral squinted his eyes, searching for whatever there was to see. Without the binoculars, he had no luck. He bit his tongue to restrain his curiosity.

“Mine, I’m afraid,” said Loki.

Amora put down the binoculars, turning to face him. Loki wore a sheepish smile.

“I was attempting a teleportation spell, and that bag of rare incenses ended up in quite the wrong place,” he said. “I would retrieve it myself, but the tree is much too thin for climbing, and given my record thus far with teleportation, well… I felt it wiser to enlist the aid of a friend.”

Loki placed a gentle hand on Fandral’s arm. The shield maiden looked between them, still not entirely convinced. “I of course did not wish to cut down the entire tree merely for the sake of regaining my bag. So I brought Fandral here, where there is the best view, so that he might take a look and devise a solution to my problem.”

“Then why did I find him here alone?” asked Amora suspiciously.

“I was momentarily called away to attend another matter. Political in nature, of course.” He made a pained expression, but still it was light-hearted, inviting her to enjoy his misfortunes. She chuckled understandingly. “You see?” he went on. “No insult was given to the mighty Brunnhilde.”

Lady Amora considered his words, then finally offered a smile. Turning towards Fandral, she bowed, chastised. “I apologize, young master, for my hasty conclusions. I did not seek to offend you.”

Startled, Fandral shook his head. “Not at all,” he assured. “I admire your loyalty to your leader.”

The woman pinkened, bowing her head in thanks. Looking to Loki, she grinned, much like an older sister. “Good luck in retrieving your incense,” she teased. The trickster chuckled, nodding. “And remember, if you need someone to help you with those magic lessons, I’ll be around a few days longer.”

“I shall bear it in mind,” he promised.

With one last bow, Amora took her leave of them. Once she was out of sight, Fandral rounded on Loki in amazement. The young man stared blankly in the direction of Amora’s exit.

“What did you _do_?” asked Fandral excitedly. “Did you create an illusion?” He laughed from relief, sagging against the pillar. He continued speaking, unconcerned about Loki’s lack of response. “My gods, Loki, I think you just saved me from a flogging! Or worse. I’ve no idea what horrors that maiden had in mind for me.”

Loki wordlessly strode away. Shocked, Fandral jumped to attention and scurried after the prince. Now he was more confused than ever. Why did Loki look so severe? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“How do you know the Lady Amora?” he asked, jogging to keep up with the Silvertongue’s quick pace.

Loki shot him an unimpressed look. “She practices seiðr, as I do,” he answered shortly, maintaining his hurried walk.

Laughing breathlessly, Fandral grabbed his arm, forcing him to slow down. “Loki, _Loki_ ,” he insisted. “Wait a moment, won’t you?”

The trickster pursed his lips, but obeyed Fandral’s wishes. He stopped, staring expectantly at Fandral. “Yes?”

“Why are you so _upset_ with me?”

“You are an irresponsible fool,” Loki replied bitingly. “And you have disrespected the guest of Odin.”

Fandral sighed, nodding in reluctant agreement. “Very well, you have a point. Then why did you _help_ me?”

Surprised, Loki met Fandral’s gaze. “Because we’re friends,” he answered. “And you were in need of help.”

Now Fandral was the speechless one. The sentiment touched him deeply. He supposed he’d considered Loki his friend before, but only a little. Thor, Sif, Hogun, and Volstagg were his friends. Loki was Thor’s younger brother, the older prince’s silent shadow. Fandral had never contemplated that perhaps his friendship with Loki meant more to the god of mischief than it did to him. He felt his heart warm.

“Perhaps in the future you should be more careful,” Loki suggested pointedly. “I will not always be there to intervene.” With those words Loki walked off, leaving Fandral to stare after the younger man, always so full of surprises.

The warrior smiled gratefully, and went on his way.

.

.

.

“You challenge _me_?” Fandral exclaimed. Hogun merely smiled—the slightest upturn of his lips—as he sank into his stance, sword extended towards the other man.

Grinning wolfishly, Fandral copied the movement and the fight began. The grassy field was filled with the clash of metal on metal and the rowdy calls of their friends who observed them. Hogun, as was typical, remained silent all throughout their bout, while Fandral shouted good-humored insults and burst with merry laughter every time Hogun’s sword came too close to piercing him. The two Asgardian warriors danced around one another, matching blow for blow.

It was then that something outside the contest caught Fandral’s eye. At the edge of the field, relaxing under a tree with book in hand, was Loki. His legs were stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles, the picture of perfect repose. The sun filtered through the leaves above him, painting drops of gold over his figure.

Fandral’s heart beat a little faster, and not from the adrenaline.

“ _Ah_!” he cried. The sword tumbled from his now bleeding hand. In his distraction, Hogun had easily cut through his defenses and speared flesh.

The smaller man halted full stop, his grim face even grimmer than usual.

“Have I injured you?” Hogun asked.

Fandral forced a smile. “It was my own fault. Do not feel bad, my friend.”

At the sound of feet pounding against the earth, Fandral turned to Thor, Sif, and Volstagg, who all three raced forward, concern clear in their faces.

“Is all well, Fandral?” asked Thor.

Fandral let loose a laugh. He appreciated his friends’ worry, but it was unnecessary for such a small matter. “It is,” he assured them. “I allowed myself to become distracted. My own folly. But the wound is not too deep. See?”

“You should still have it seen to,” Sif pointed out.

Sighing, Fandral nonetheless continued to smile and said, “The voice of reason.” She smirked approvingly. “I suppose you are right, Sif, as always. I will go in and have it seen to straightaway.”

“Do you wish us to accompany you?” Volstagg inquired.

Fandral waved a dismissive hand. “No no. Don’t cease your activities on my account. I’m certain I will rejoin you shortly.”

Sharing goodbyes, Fandral jogged off the field, his thoughts immediately turning back to the original cause of his distraction. What had that been _about_ , anyways? It was certainly not an unusual sight to see Loki studying near the practice fields. Why should it matter to _him_?

But Fandral’s mind recalled in perfect detail the way the sun had illuminated the pale planes of Loki’s face, the way that his icy blue eyes had seemed to shine ten times brighter when the light touched them. He recalled the way Loki’s lithe body had looked lain out in a delicate line under the tree. And he recalled exactly what feeling this sight had awoken in him, however briefly.

Lust.

Plain and simple lust.

Fandral was lusting after Loki, the younger prince of Asgard, god of mischief, Thor’s little brother. The warrior groaned, dropping his head backwards in defeat as his feet carried him onwards.

Well this was just _perfect_.

.

.

.

The tavern was full of raucous laughter and merriment. Torches lit the walls, casting the room into cheerful brightness. Young Asgardian men and women lined the benches, falling atop one another, smashing their tankards of mead together. Women perched on the laps of their chosen companions for the night, ruffling hair and whispering scandalous flirtations in warm ears.

From the seat beside his brother, Loki gazed around the crowd with vague disinterest. There was no maiden in his lap, nor any showing an inclination to be. He was glad of it. He had no desire to engage in such folly that night, to fake an eagerness or interest that he rarely felt, and certainly not at this moment. He was already tired from a day of studying new and powerful magics, and the company of so many obnoxious persons was wearing him down even further. Loki sipped delicately at his drink, well aware that his innards were much less drowned in liquor than anyone else’s.

Scornful of the way Thor ignored his company for that of his dull warrior companions, Loki’s clever eyes darted towards Thor’s friends—spread throughout the tavern as they were—searching for the amusement he knew would greet him.

He was quite correct in his assumption. His lips curled into a smile to see Volstagg chortling, his beard covered with foam, the woman on his lap almost taking a blow to the head as he reached a large hand to smear it away.

Then Hogun, steadily ignoring the several young ladies who hopelessly vied for the attention of his quiet, stern self as he downed another mug of wine; but Loki saw the glint in Hogun’s eye that meant those ladies could expect a more satisfying evening than they anticipated.

Then the Lady Sif, who sat laughing and sharing stories with the other warriors. A moment after Loki’s eyes alighted on her, one man became fool enough to touch Sif as though she were merely another bar maiden. Seconds later he was drooling on the floor, while Sif smirked triumphantly over his felled body and her friends roared with laughter. Loki raised his mug in her direction, eyes twinkling. Surprised to catch his eye, Sif nodded politely in return, then resumed her cavorting with the men.

Then, of course, was Fandral. Ambitious to the last, he had not one but two women on his lap and another draped across his back, arms wrapped around his neck. He dealt them flashy smiles and charming lines, and they giggled and petted and fluttered their eyelashes at him.

As if feeling the gaze upon him, Fandral’s eyes suddenly flashed up, locking onto Loki’s. The prince’s breath halted, for what reason he couldn’t say. There was something purposeful in Fandral’s gaze, quite unlike the distant acknowledgement of Sif. There was something… hungry.

Loki blinked.

It was gone. No, it was still there, the hunger, the lust, only it was turned back onto the ladies. The ones it had been meant for.

Loki scowled, ducking his head and taking a swig. Why had he thought any differently? And, more importantly, _why_ had his momentary mistake caused his heart to leap inside his chest?

Slowly, telling himself there was no reason for it—but no reason why he shouldn’t—Loki let his eyes slide up to rest on Fandral once more. His forehead wrinkled. Evidently the warrior had said something wrong, for the three women shared a tremendously displeased look. Trying to placate them, Fandral swung his hands about frantically, giving his most charming smile. But the damage was done.

The maidens each shoved him, strutting away in disgust. Loki pretended not to watch with amusement out of the corner of his eye as they marched past him in an indignant line.

“Ladies, _darlings_!” cried Fandral. He lurched onto his feet, and began to trail after his failed conquests. The drinks, however, had finally gotten to him, and he couldn’t find proper footing. He stumbled staggeringly across the floor, pausing every few moments to regain his balance.

The trickster took particular care _not_ to pay attention to his friend’s trek; but this came to naught when a heavy weight suddenly crashed upon him, driving him forward into the table. He gave an “ _Oof_!” and immediately braced himself so that Fandral’s weight wouldn’t drag them both onto the floor.

Seemingly aware that he’d found something stable to lean upon, Fandral allowed himself to cling to Loki, resting against him rather than righting himself. With a huff, Loki twisted about as best he could, grabbing Fandral by the arms. One close look at Fandral’s face gave a clear enough picture of his friend’s state.

Sighing, Loki pushed himself up from the bench, tugging Fandral with him. He draped an arm around Fandral’s waist, and aided Fandral in laying his arm around Loki’s shoulders.

“Mm… Where are we going?” Fandral inquired brightly, before erupting in chortles. Loki gave no answer as he began to lead the other man forward.

The young prince had barely made it two steps before his brother bellowed, “Loki! Do you disappear on me already? The night is still young!”

Loki looked over his shoulder, wearing an entirely false expression of regret. In truth he couldn’t have been happier to have an excuse to leave this celebration. He ignored Fandral’s petulant mumblings of, “They left me! How could they— But I’m _dashing_! They were so _lovely_ …”

“I fear our friend has had too much to drink,” Loki said ruefully. “I apologize for leaving so early, but I do not wish to take away from _your_ fun, and he really must be put to bed.”

Quickly over his disappointment, Thor beamed at him, raising a tankard in his direction. “Very well, brother,” he answered. “Take good care of him!” Thor turned back to his comrades-at-arms, and Loki rolled his eyes.

Tightening his arm around his friend, he told Fandral, “Come. I’m going to take you home.” He began to walk again, dragging the older man with him. What had moments ago been a self-pitying pout suddenly morphed into a flirtatious grin.

“Oh, is that the way of it, now?” Fandral asked, leering at him. Loki made no response, only shook his head long-sufferingly as he used magic to open the tavern doors for them and pulled them through. “I never imagined you to be so forward, little prince.”

“Do not call me that,” returned Loki easily. He led them away from the tavern and down the street.

“I will call you anything you like,” promised Fandral, his voice dropping into sultry tones. Leaning his head towards Loki’s with a grin, Fandral chuckled. The overpowering smell of liquor on his breath made Loki’s nose crinkle. “Just tell me your desires. I shall fulfill every one of them.”

“I desire you to walk straight.”

Always one for a challenge, Fandral raised a teasing eyebrow at the remark and yanked them to an abrupt halt. With his right hand he put up one finger, like a magician telling his audience to pause in wait for the stupendous finale. Loki found himself smiling before he could help himself. Fandral’s playfulness was nothing if not infectious.

Slowly, prying up one finger at a time, until none were touching Loki’s person, Fandral spread his left hand wide and drew it back, wiggling his fingers in a proud show that he was no longer relying on Loki for balance. He smiled vibrantly, his fixed eyes demanding admiration.

Chuckling, Loki plastered a mocking smile on his face and gestured forward with his hand, inviting his friend to walk. “Go on, then.”

A brief scowl passed over Fandral’s face, but it was soon replaced by another arrogant smirk. “Certainly!” he exclaimed. He took a large and confident step forward...

...and would have fallen on his face had Loki not swooped down and scooped the older man into his arms. The two men laughed—giggled—together as Loki struggled to find good leverage with which to raise them both into vertical positions. Groaning, he did eventually manage to hoist them both up. Fandral rested against his side again, his gleaming white smile only inches away.

Loki wasn’t sure why his eyes continually chose to revisit those li— Smile. That smile. Swallowing uncomfortably, Loki turned his eyes down, trying to regain control of himself. He was behaving in an utterly ridiculous manner.

Putting these thoughts from his mind, Loki led them down the street once more. They walked in companionable silence, turning down streets and alleyways, plodding the way towards Fandral’s home.

Once they’d reached it, Loki opened the door, jiggling the lock free with his magic. For a split second he worried that Fandral would resent the intrusion, but the warrior merely laughed in appreciation of Loki’s skill. The prince’s normally pale cheeks flushed pink.

Stopping just inside the door, Loki peered into his friend’s face. “Are you able to take care of yourself from here on?” he asked.

“Well,” answered Fandral, once again wearing that lazy, suggestive smile, “I should much prefer that _you_ take care of me. Gods, you are _lovely_ , Loki.”

Loki’s eyes grew wide as Fandral took two powerful steps forward, cornering Loki against the closed door. Staring now at Fandral from mere inches away, he realized that he’d been wrong to name Fandral’s smile as “lazy”: the expression on his countenance was anything but. There was need and desire and lust burning in Fandral’s bright eyes as they roved spiritedly around Loki’s face. Loki felt his breaths coming in short, stunned by the intensity of the gaze leveled upon him. No one had ever looked at him that way before, and it made him both nervous and excited.

Just as Fandral brought his mouth to fit against Loki’s, however, the god of mischief came to his senses. His eyes narrowed at being so ill-used by the one friend aside from his brother that he’d thought he had.

Shoving Fandral backwards, Loki kept the charming man at bay. Fandral whined, struggling uselessly to regain his closeness to the prince.

“Fandral,” said Loki sharply. “You are intoxicated, and disappointed in your expectations of this evening. But I am your friend, and I will _not_ degrade myself to play this role for you.”

At this, Fandral shook his head fervidly. “No, no, see…” he explained, his expression entirely serious. “It’s all I could think of…”

A desirous hand sought out Loki’s cheek, but Loki sidestepped him easily. Making a distressed noise, Fandral hurried after Loki—tripping over his own feet in the attempt—as the trickster strutted towards the bedchamber. Loki’s muscles were unusually tense, and he kept several careful steps ahead of Fandral so that there was no danger of being touched again. He was being generous enough to continue helping Fandral to bed even after being treated as some kind of second-rate consort, like a consolation prize.

Fandral continued, his words quick and sloppy. “While I… I had them both on me, on my knees, and I just… Loki is more beautiful, I thought,” he said. Genuinely shocked, Loki’s eyes grew wide, but he kept walking, not daring to look back at his friend. He shoved open the door to Fandral’s bedchamber and strode into the center of the room. He planted himself there, turning towards Fandral with arms crossed. The warrior’s eyes bore imploringly into his as he came to stand only feet from Loki. There was the hunger again, just like earlier. Loki’s flesh shivered.

“His skin is softer and paler,” Fandral went on, voice full of quiet admiration, “his lashes grow longer and darker, his eyes shine brighter. That is what I thought.”

Clenching his teeth, Loki said, “You speak nonsense. Get some sleep.”

When he attempted to walk past Fandral to the doorway, the older man grabbed hold of his wrist, spinning him back around. He somehow managed to pull Loki smoothly into his arms. He smiled. “Only if you share it with me.”

“I will not,” was the reply. Loki withdrew from Fandral’s hold, yet again keeping him at bay with a firm hand. “I will ignore your foolish ramblings, and tomorrow morning you shall thank me.”

“I shall most certainly not!” Fandral cried. The god of mischief whirled away so quickly that Fandral felt he had merely blinked when Loki was suddenly passing through the doorway.

“Goodnight, Fandral.”

“Loki—!” he called out, but it was in vain. The disappointed man scowled, and clenched his hands into fists. He took a swipe at one of the bedposts. Sighing, Fandral tumbled backwards, sprawling out onto the very empty bed.

* 

The next morning a knock came at Loki’s door. Having expected just that, Loki called out, “Enter!” with a smug smile upon his face. He schooled the expression into disinterest when Fandral walked into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Loki,” the warrior said at once. “I must apologize for my behavior last night.”

The prince inclined his head graciously. Striding over to his friend’s side, he declared, “Don’t worry, I’ve banished it from my mind. Words spoken from drunken lips should never be—”

“No, you misunderstand,” was the forceful interruption. Loki’s self-assuredness faltered. “I’m not apologizing for what I said, merely the way that I said it.” Fandral stared at him intently, fervor in his gaze.

Uneasy, Loki’s eyes darted about the room. “What do you mean?” he asked briskly.

“I don’t want you to believe that I said those things because the wine got to my head,” Fandral told him. “That my brain merely took you as a stand-in for those women, as if you were an object, a toy, to be used at my pleasure—”

“Fandral—”

“No, hear me.”

Exhaling, Fandral dared to step close enough to the trickster that he could clasp Loki’s hands in his. Loki’s jaw clenched and he took them back, but not before Fandral felt them trembling.

“Because _none_ of those things is true,” he went on passionately, undeterred. “I _don’t_ think of you that way, Loki, I swear it. I need you to understand that.”

Loki’s nerves calmed, leaving him only cold and unamused. “You are not making sense,” the god of mischief stated, straightening his cuffs. “Perhaps you are still affected by last night’s drinking.” Chin raised imperiously, Loki strutted past Fandral on his way to the great wooden doors.

“Last night was not the first time I’ve thought those things!” Fandral called out behind him.

The prince stopped. He tried to goad himself into leaving, into resuming his dramatic exit, but a leaden weight kept him firmly planted. His mouth ran dry, his heart uncomfortably tight. Loki knew Fandral was trying to draw him in, to keep him there, and yet he couldn’t help but to fall prey to his trap. He remained still as Fandral charged onward with his reckless words.

“I’ve admired you for months, _years_ , Loki,” Fandral confessed in a hurry, “but I didn’t dare tell you, for you are Thor’s brother and it would be wrong of me. But now the truth has emerged, and I need you to know that I did speak the honest truth, the _too_ honest truth.”

Slowly Loki turned around, his eyes meeting Fandral’s hesitantly. Smiling with relief, Fandral approached him, his eyes brimming over with warmth, his entire being shining in its brightness of spirit.

“You were beautiful last night, and you _still_ are today,” he said softly. “Truly, you are… the fairest creature I have ever laid eyes on. I have _always_ wanted you.” Fandral’s eyes fell to the ground in his guilt. “But you are my friend, and I never meant to treat you that way, to… throw myself upon you in such an _appalling_ manner. I apologize for my stupid tongue—”

“There is no need to apologize for it.”

Stunned, Fandral’s head snapped upwards, his eyes seeking Loki’s for an explanation. He had to remind himself to breathe after seeing the startlingly attractive smirk upon Loki’s lips.

“Simply find it a better occupation,” Loki said lightly.

For one wondrous second, Fandral allowed the amazement to wash over him. In the next he claimed Loki’s lips with his own, meeting the prince with heat and passion, which were returned in equal measure.


	2. Feelings That Linger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The relationship between Loki and Fandral is tested by the events of 'Thor' and 'Thor: the Dark World.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, Fandral seeks Loki out after Thor's banishment in 'Thor.'  
> Next, the two lovers are reunited when Fandral assists Thor with his and Loki's escape in 'Thor: the Dark World.'  
> Finally, Loki as Odin is convincing to some... but not to all, post-'Thor: the Dark World.'

Loki paced in his chambers, darkly anxious, his fingernails clawing across the back of his left hand. Over and over again he relived it all: the fatal grip around his wrist, the chill, the shared look, the sliced flesh of the witness to his ignominy.

The world blurred around him as his feet traced tenacious lines in the floor. Through the window streamed the reflection of golden Asgard, the brightness piercing into Loki’s vision, furthering his headache. Everything was so damned bright in this world. Everything except that which did not belong in the first place.

A noise drew his attention to the doorway.

The god of mischief scowled, resuming his pacing. Fandral closed the door, walking towards Loki with an ease of stride that contrasted the prince’s frantic steps.

“What do my ‘friends’ say of me in my absence?” asked Loki harshly. Indignant anger twisted his lips. But in his eyes was an ill-disguised well of pain, a well that had formed eons ago and been slowly filled to the brim as drop after drop was added over the millennia. With each mocking jest, each barbed insult, each thoughtless snub, the well grew fuller, until now it could hold no more; it teetered on the brink of spilling over.

“Nothing kind, I imagine,” he continued. “I am to blame for their dear friend’s banishment, after all. Not Thor and his recklessness. Not the All-Father and his pride. I, who saved our lives, am solely at fault. Is it not so?”

Sighing, Fandral stepped closer to the restless man. Loki’s eyes bore into his, all at once accusing and pleading, defiant and broken.

“They should not have said what they did,” Fandral admitted. “We owe you our lives. I especially.” He offered a smile.

Loki’s brow crinkled in a moment of confusion before he remembered. Keeping an eye on and protecting Fandral in battle had become so second nature to him that he had almost forgotten his rescue of Fandral earlier that day. He scoffed, turning his gaze aside. But despite Loki’s feigned indifference, his tense features softened, and Fandral’s smile grew to see it.

“You hardly need to thank me for that,” replied Loki. “I behaved as any honorable warrior must.”

“Still,” Fandral insisted, “were it not for your attentiveness, I would now be dead on a spear, probably roasting over the fire for some monster’s dinner. A tasty Asgardian kabob.”

A muscle in Loki’s jaw twitched, and his eyes turned downward again. His eyes couldn’t seem to stay still, nor indeed could his feet, nor his hands. He was the very picture of unease.

“Loki…”

The young prince made no response to the quiet plea. Not until Fandral’s hands closed tenderly over his, ceasing their careless movements, did his eyes flash up to meet his friend’s. He immediately yanked his hands back.

Startled by the unexpected behavior, Fandral was stuck in place as Loki marched away, going to stand by the enormous windows.

“Loki, whatever is the matter?” he cried amazedly, dashing after the other man. “This is quite unlike you.” Staring out the window, Loki gave no answer, no acknowledgement of Fandral whatsoever.

“Are their words spoken in the heat of the moment truly bothering you so much?” asked Fandral with a laugh. Drinking in the beauty of Asgard at Loki’s side, he did not see the glare Loki sent out into the abyss. “You ought to know better than to take them so seriously. They speak always on instinct, nothing more. They reacted rashly, true, but they don’t mean it. We’re _all_ a bit on edge, what with Thor’s banishment. Can you blame them?”

“Leave me.”

Fandral reeled backwards, head snapping towards the other man with shock. The trickster slowly turned to face him, his expression cold and unreadable.

The warrior swallowed. It was a blow to hear those words. In fact, it hurt severely, a vicious ache in his chest. Loki had never rejected him in so fierce a manner before. It was so unlike him to behave this way. Had Fandral grown too arrogant of his place in Loki’s life? Had he missed the warning signs pointing to this moment? Or was there something else at work?

Forcing a lighthearted chuckle, Fandral said, “I didn’t mean to offend you. I only meant—”

“There is something I must do besides,” Loki interrupted. He began to strut away, but Fandral moved instinctively at the same time. Grabbing Loki by the wrist, he held the god of mischief in place, forcing Loki to spin back around to face him.

A fire of fear and rage like Fandral had never seen before in Thor’s quiet younger brother stole his breath away. Stunned, and exceedingly worried for his younger friend, he only strengthened his grip when Loki attempted to jerk away.

“Release me,” hissed Loki.

“No,” was Fandral’s firm response. “ _Speak_ to me. Is this about Thor? Do you feel you _are_ to blame?”

Loki snarled at him. Raising his free right hand, Loki waved it before Fandral could reach out and stop him. Suddenly an unnatural green light shone, emanating from the warrior’s upper body. Fandral gave a surprised cry, his fingers immediately uncurling as he frantically brushed away the feathers that now tickled his torso, the feathers that had once been a shirt.

“ _Loki_!”

Loki gave no response, only turned on his heel and made a direct line for the door. Gritting his teeth—and wondering not for the first time if being Loki’s friend was more trouble than it was worth—Fandral shook free the last of the feathers and ran after the prince, reaching him just as he cracked the door open. Fandral slammed the door shut with one hand, his body trapping Loki against it. From mere inches away he could hear the angry breaths of the younger god, see the pure frustration in his eyes.

“You arrogant, senseless fool,” snapped Loki, his words quiet but powerful. “You dare to treat me this way in my own chambers? I would tolerate this in no one, and you are no exception. Do not think you are allowed to take such liberties with me.”

“Am I _not_ allowed to take liberties?” Fandral answered cheekily.

In the blink of an eye his lips were on Loki’s. He leaned forwards, pressing Loki even further against the door. Despite his brittle words, Loki responded instantly, pressing into the kiss just as passionately, opening his mouth to Fandral’s familiar tongue. Loki moaned, grabbing Fandral by the hips and pulling him even closer, so they were practically flush against one another, his lithe fingers spreading across the bare plains of Fandral’s back.

The next moment, Fandral was thrown backwards by the force of an ox. He stumbled to a halt, staring with bewilderment at the man who glared pure hate at him. How could this be the same man who had responded so energetically to a kiss only seconds ago? It left Fandral speechless, a chill creeping up his spine.

“ _Do_ not,” Loki said coldly, “touch me again.”

“What has gotten into you?” demanded Fandral. “Why won’t you simply _tell_ me what’s going on?”

“I did tell you. There is something I must do.”

The god of mischief turned back towards the door.

“Then allow me to come with you.”

Loki paused with his fingers on the door handle. Slowly his gaze drifted upward, over to his lover. Fandral stood, bare-chested, arms outstretched in a show of openness. There was an earnestness in his expression that made Loki’s heart clench. For all of Fandral’s faults, he _was_ Loki’s favorite of Thor’s compatriots, and for good reason. There had never been any other outside of Loki’s family to genuinely care about him. But Fandral did. For whatever reason, he cared.

“I do not believe that you should be alone,” Fandral added.

The prince swallowed, curling his hands into fists. “On the contrary,” he replied, not daring to meet Fandral’s concerned gaze, “alone is precisely what I must be.”

With that, Loki left the other man behind, slipping through the doorway like a wisp of smoke. Fandral remained still, thoughtful. Something was different in his friend, and he was afraid it was nothing good. But what could _he_ do about it?

After a moment of deliberation, Fandral gave it up. He left Loki’s bedchambers with a sigh, returning to the company of his true friends.

.

.

.

The momentum slung his body through the air. Loki cursed Thor in his mind, questioning the thunder god’s sanity as the wind whipped around him. But after a matter of mere seconds, Loki saw it. He had only a second to process the new ship awaiting him and the figure aboard who stood poised with his arms out, evidently intent on catching him. Loki grimaced anticipatorily just before they impacted.

Slammed together with great force, the air was driven out of both men, and they tumbled together onto the deck. Fandral groaned beneath him and Loki immediately shoved himself to his feet, taking quick steps away from his old friend and discreetly sucking air back into his lungs. He turned to face the ship flying ahead of them, so he heard but did not see Fandral rise.

“Not as graceful as you used to be.”

Sneering, Loki shot a disdainful look over his shoulder. “I was pushed unceremoniously out of a moving ship. Had Thor graced me with the knowledge of his plan _beforehand_ , I assure you I would have _easily_ landed upon my own two feet.” He turned away again.

“Loki.”

No reply.

A hand on his upper arm yanked him around, bringing him nose-to-nose with the warrior.

Before he could speak, Loki smirked. “Let me guess,” he said airily. “You wish to say that if I betray Thor, you’ll kill me.”

The god of mischief was surprised to see a smirk mirror his own.

“Nothing of the sort,” Fandral assured.

With no warning, Fandral darted forward and mashed their lips together. Too stunned for motion, Loki did nothing in return, but neither did he pull away. Every muscle in his body locked in place.

Fandral pulled back with a grin. “I only wanted to say good luck! I’ve missed you, Loki.”

Regaining the ability to think in coherent sentences, Loki gave a scornful huff. “Missed my presence in your bed, you mean,” he corrected haughtily.

Fandral’s smile became gentler. For just a moment his fingers brushed against Loki’s cheek, shocking Loki even further, making his heart careen forward.

“No,” Fandral said. “I missed _you_.”

Loki remained still as Fandral stepped away, feeling annoyingly like a startled doe. There was no more time for words, however, as in the next moment Thor and his mortal woman landed on the deck with them, and then it was time to act.

But perhaps as Fandral gave a roguish smile before swinging away, Loki could not help a smile back.

.

.

.

The All-Father entered his bedchamber for the night, beginning to remove the layers of formal wear the title unfortunately required. He was setting down his gauntlets when the creak of wood alerted him to someone entering the room.

Odin turned towards the doorway, all but gaping at the audacity of the man strutting inside with a calm smile that suggested not a care in the world.

“What do you think you are doing?” Odin asked, his words clipped. “This is my private bedchamber. You may not simply enter at your own liking.”

The king felt increasingly scandalized when Fandral, still with the same smile plastered to his face, took a seat on his bed. Making towards the intruder, Odin grit his teeth. “Have you suffered one too many blows on the training grounds, Fandral?” he inquired. “As you are a friend to my son, and one of Asgard’s finest warriors, I do not wish to call the guards. But if you do not remove yourself I shall have no choice. This is _highly_ inappropriate!”

“It is _truly_ impressive how you’ve managed to so thoroughly convince everyone,” said Fandral, leaning back on his elbows thoughtfully. “Even Thor. Just brilliant.”

Odin’s royal brow creased. “What are you speaking of, boy?”

“Really, I believe it is your best trick yet!” he replied. Fandral jumped to his feet, loping over to the All-Father with a cheeky grin. “Still,” he murmured, coming closer than decorum dictated, “it is a trick only.”

“I believe it best that you retire for the night,” said Odin, planting a firm hand between Fandral’s shoulder blades and steering him towards the doorway. “Clear your head of whatever madness wine has provoked in you. I shall forgive your trespasses.”

Fandral pulled away from his touch, stubbornly rooting himself on the spot. The king began to scowl.

“There’s no use pretending with me, don’t you see that?” Fandral insisted. “Please, won’t you let me see your true face? I will do anything.”

Odin stared into his eyes for several long seconds, judging what he found there, deliberating. They stood together in silence. Then a green glimmer passed over Odin’s visage, leaving the real one in its place. Loki stared at Fandral impassively, wary of the danger he found himself in.

Fandral, on the other hand, beamed carelessly, and let loose a bright laugh. Two strong hands grabbed Loki’s face, holding him as a friend might. “By _gods_ , Loki,” he exclaimed, “we believed you _dead_!” He pulled Loki into a fierce hug, slapping his back enthusiastically before letting him go.

Still only a couple of feet away, Fandral gazed deep into Loki’s eyes, seeming to revel in the sight of him. The false king remained outwardly emotionless, hiding his confusion, his fear, his hope.

“You understand that I cannot allow you to share your discovery,” said Loki, watching his old friend carefully, waiting for the moment when he sobered and tried to call out or attack. His body tensed in preparation.

But the moment didn’t come. Fandral grinned again. “I have no intention of doing that,” he assured. Finally Loki let his confusion lay clear. “I am only relieved to have you back. However, I must ask…” His expression did become more serious now, and Loki’s muscles pulled more tightly together. “Where is the All-Father?”

“Dead.”

Fandral shook his head. “I don’t believe you. What have you done with him?”

Loki paused in thought. Then, “He is locked away. But don’t expect me to tell you where.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” the warrior answered. “I told you, Loki, I have no plans to depose you.”

“Then why are you here?” he hissed. “Why have you come to me? And how did you know my true identity?”

“Oh, I know you too well. I’ll admit, you kept the wool pulled over my eyes for some time, but I know your body, shall we say, _intimately_.” Fandral gave the trickster an appreciative once-over. “I know how it moves. And when the king walked and sat and turned, I saw not Odin the All-Father but his son. I was quite disturbed when gazing upon _Odin_ made me grow hard.”

Despite himself, Loki smiled, the edges of his lips pulling up as far as they would go. His features were alight with genuine amusement for the first time since his illegitimate ascension to the throne. Fandral grinned with him. Leaning forward, he teasingly remarked, “I shall never forgive you for traumatizing me in that fashion.”

“My sincerest apologies,” answered Loki, bending gracefully at the waist, arms extended out to the sides.

Fandral gave a mock gasp. “Does the King of Asgard bow to unworthy little me?”

“He does. And he asks… will you keep his secret?”

“Always,” was the immediate response.

There it was. That earnest expression, the total sincerity. Loki had almost forgotten how it looked. He blinked a bit more rapidly.

“Why?” he nearly whispered.

The warrior looked down, taking Loki’s hands into his own.

“Odin is old,” said Fandral simply. “His time is past. I saw what he was driven to in Asgard’s moment of crisis. That is not the leader Asgard needs on her throne. In your weeks upon it, every decision has been wise and benevolent. I believe that you shall be a better king than he. Asgard is lucky to have you as her ruler, though she does not know it. Only… promise me that your father—”

“Odin is _not_ my father.”

Fandral bowed his head in agreement. “No. That the _All-Father_ is being well cared for.”

“Is that all?”

“Just that.”

“I give my word,” Loki swore.

Searching his friend’s eyes, Fandral nodded twice, believing him to be truthful. He could sense Loki’s bitterness, his distaste for showing Odin any kindnesses, but he was being honest about his conditions.

“Is there nothing else you would ask of your king?” asked Loki lightly.

A smile curled slowly about Fandral’s lips. “There is _one_ thing,” he admitted.

Loki’s head tilted. _Go on_ , his expression read.

The warrior’s hand rose up, brushing Loki’s long dark hair back in a smooth and tender motion. The other settled on his neck, thumb stroking his cheek. “I would ask that my king, whenever it is convenient for him, grant me private audiences. I would see your lovely countenance on every possible occasion.”

Loki laughed. “You have not changed,” he remarked. “A pretty face can turn your head in an instant.”

Fandral was startled into a laugh. “Did you just… call yourself _pretty_?” he asked.

The god of mischief smirked. “Oh, I have embraced it.”

Licking his lips tantalizingly—he watched Fandral’s eyes flick downwards, his pupils enlarge—Loki leaned forward, until he was so close to the other man that his breath warmed Fandral’s cheek.

“I believe I have time for a private audience at this very moment,” he murmured. He was delighted to feel the shiver that ran across his friend’s skin. Loki brushed his lips along Fandral’s cheek in a line back to his ear. Their bodies now pressed together, Loki whispered, “Warrior of Asgard, do you love the king you have sworn to serve and obey?”

“Yes,” was the half-spoken, half-breathed reply.

“Show me.”


End file.
